


Of Cookies and Camisoles

by Nectardust



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Accidental Touching, Cookies, F/M, First Season, Inappropriate Humor, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-29 16:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19403719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nectardust/pseuds/Nectardust
Summary: Mamoru really hadn't meant to stick his hand down there. But then again, it WAS all in the name of saving chocolate.





	Of Cookies and Camisoles

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2008. Unbeta'ed and unchanged from original post.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sailor Moon. Never have, never will.
> 
> A/N: Meant for laughs. More humor than actual romance, but hopefully still intriguing. Rated for safety for dirty humor, not because of any actual adult content.

Mamoru never really noticed what the Odango was wearing – at least, not admittedly – and he saw no reason to think it would ever benefit him to know. Her ensemble this sunny Saturday morning consisted of a rather short, light blue miniskirt and a white camisole. Simple enough, but cute in and of itself. Mamoru snorted; it was all to attract Motoki's attentions, no doubt. Not his. Nope, definitely not his. Which was why he'd resorted to sneaking up behind the poor girl, leaning over her bent head in a position that was clearly an invasion of her privacy. She wouldn't notice him otherwise.

So he'd sauntered over to her table, where she was sitting alone for once, and lowered his head near hers so as to best surprise her. A witty remark got caught in his throat as his eyes strayed, unintentionally (one must believe) gawking at some exposed skin. "Odango" and "exposed skin" did not belong in the same thought, no matter if it was incoherent, and especially not when the two terms were connected by the overwhelming cry of "want!" It wasn't Mamoru's fault. He'd merely looked down; he _had_ to look down to even see her at all! It was just that, from his vantage point, he could see right down her shirt. It was one of those camisoles with the built-in bra, and apparently Usagi thought it good enough to suffice. Not that she was well-endowed enough to need extra support from an additional, _genuine_ bra, but…it might have saved Mamoru from a near heart-attack. The top of her cami rested loosely on the upper swells of her breasts, and of course the tight band of elastic supported her chest from underneath.

The blonde was oblivious to her tormenter's presence as she looked between her hands, each holding a chocolate chip cookie apiece. Ah, life was good. She was about to take a bite out of one when she felt warm breath hit her neck, and she jumped. With her typical luck, she lost hold of her treasures and wailed at the injustice of fate putting the jerk in her path yet _again_. In the time it took for Mamoru to seat himself opposite her, the two beloved cookies had found a new home – inside her shirt. Usagi herself was so distraught at dropping her cookies that she didn't notice the warm, crumbly mess taking up residence in her bra.

Usagi didn't notice, but Mamoru did.

Eyes glazing over, the dark-haired college student mentally drooled. Chocolate. Oh, how he loved chocolate. It was his secret passion, much like the blonde sitting in front…of…him…no, he pushed the yearning for his Odango back into his subconscious. But he couldn't deny himself the temptation of chocolate, and chocolate so easily accessible, too! All he had to do was reach in there and yank – really, what was the harm in that?

Chiba Mamoru, for the first time in his life, allowed himself the luxury of not thinking. It wasn't a conscious thought, but seeing as how he _was_ a healthy teenage man-boy… It wasn't Usagi's fault the healthy man-boy had repressed his natural, stereotypical male hormonal desire throughout all of adolescence – okay, so maybe 'healthy' wasn't the right word. It didn't matter. On autopilot, Mamoru's hand shot forward across the table, not stopping once he reached the assumed boundaries of the blonde's camisole. It was all in the name of saving chocolate! Er…wasn't it?

It was a rather tight fit. It hadn't looked so in the beginning, but he supposed that was because the two cookies weren't occupying space there at the time. Frowning, he realized that the intrusion of his hand into Usagi's top had actually shoved his prize – the cookies! – deeper into their new cubby. How to reach them, then? There was only one logical solution. He wriggled his hand farther down, fingers seeking as many broken crumbs as he could gather. Usagi squeaked, a high-pitched little mewl, and he belatedly remembered there were a _couple_ of other things bouncing around in his hand's new territory. Talk about being caught with his hand in the cookie jar…

Luckily, it was around the time his common sense was repacking its bags and complaining about its _short_ vacation, he finally grasped a cookie and tugged it ceremoniously out of the blonde's clothes. Success!

The shock of having her worst enemy's hand down her shirt was beginning to wear off, and Usagi was pissed. "You perverted jerk!" she hissed, the lack of sufficient oxygen preventing her from screaming at her usual ear-splitting volume. Her entire face was red with anger – or embarrassment – and Mamoru was amused to note the blush spread all the way to the area his hand had just been exploring. Following the movement of his eyes back to her chest, the blonde lost it. Metaphorical steam erupted from her ears, and she leapt on the table, knocking over the salt and pepper shakers as she crawled her way over to him. The shortest distance between two points – mainly, her fist and Mamoru's face – was a straight line, and Usagi wanted to waste no time in walking _around_ the table. Of course, she didn't really care to credit the theory to geometry; she just put it to use.

"You – you – _gah_!" she growled. "When my dad finds out…" She leaned closer to him, wobbling on the tabletop.

To block out the sight of her enraged face drifting closer, Mamoru let his eyes slip past her burning gaze. Hm. She was crouched on all fours on the table; he would bet anything she was flashing the rest of the arcade. That miniskirt she wore would do nothing to hide her decency. He briefly considered lamenting the fact that he was sitting where her front end loomed, since he guessed sitting in her vacated seat would be more pleasing to the eye (at least from his viewpoint…secretly, of course), but decided against it. One, it wouldn't change where he _was_ sitting to wish he was sitting across the way; two, even enraged, Usagi's face was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. Like, ever.

Mamoru tuned her out, gulping as his own imagination took over. Oh yes, when Daddy Tsukino found out, Mamoru knew his life would end oh-so-five-minutes-ago.

"But Daddy's not going to get a chance at you…I'm going to _moondust_ you myself!"

Mamoru smirked. Ah, Usagi. Such a Sailor Moon-wannabe.

And here one must backtrack, so as to account for a very important little detail. Something really must be said for the state in which Motoki kept his arcade. The front counter was constantly scrubbed clean, glistening and germ-free since the blond employee rubbed it down so often. The same could not, however, be said of his main tables. There was a small spill of water in the middle of Usagi's and Mamoru's booth left over from its previous occupants. And the overlooked puddle certainly couldn't help it if the blonde teen was a bit on the klutzy side.

Usagi slipped. She would have fallen headfirst into Mamoru's lap had her aforementioned nemesis, in a rare show of kindness, steadied her limbs. Her left hand clutched the edge of the tabletop in a death grip, and her right hand flew to her heart. The movement knocked the second cookie out of her shirt…right into Mamoru's lap. Usagi's breath hitched. No. Way. That jerk was _not_ getting her second treat, too! And so, Usagi allowed herself once again the luxury she abused: the luxury of not thinking. Her right hand followed that cookie, down, down, right between the college student's unsuspecting legs.

Mission accomplished! The blonde crowed in her head, feeling lightheaded. She drew her arm back, fingers full of broken crumbs, and found that her hand had grasped far, _far_ more than her fallen cookie. Whoops? When Usagi panicked, she had to hold something. During thunderstorms, it was usually poor Luna who was subject to the schoolgirl's torture. And of course, it was understandable that Usagi panicked when she realized she had just _grabbed_ Chiba Mamoru. Oh, where had her innocence fled? Her hand needed something to squeeze in her oncoming hyperventilation, and it just so happened her fingers were conveniently already wrapped around – _something_. In addition to cookie crumbs. But Usagi was no longer thinking about her cookie; it was dead to her now.

She was still _grabbing_ Chiba Mamoru. And he hadn't killed her yet. Ha! How many other women could claim _that_? At the thought, a new burning anger settled in the pit of her stomach. Just how many women _had_ grabbed Mamo-chan, as she was doing? Why did it matter? But most importantly, how many others? This was Mamoru she was thinking about. He may have been lacking in the personality department, but his good looks weren't to be denied. She knew other girls noticed. He probably had a whole block full of willing hoochies lining up to worship his body. Usagi seethed at the thought; how dare they! The _sluts_!

It was Mamoru's turn to freeze. Even the most daring of his admirers had never squeezed his _front_. Leave it to the Odango to venture where none had ever been before…

Talk about being led around by the – oh no. He did _not_ just go there. If he was going to be whipped, why was fate so cruel as to choose the Odango?

To distract himself from such disturbing thoughts as being soul-bound to the klutz of Juuban, he let his gaze zero in on its favorite resting place. He didn't mean to be a pervert; it was just that Usagi's chest seemed to hold a lot of adventures for him lately. There was a chocolate chip poking against the material of her shirt. It seemed a bit strange that it had rolled to the very outermost part 'in there' before getting stuck in place, jutting out so the fabric of the built-in bra stretched tightly over its round little shape. Mamoru unconsciously licked his lips, mind in a daze. What he wouldn't give to devour that chocolate chip. There was yet more chocolate trapped in the vicinity of the Odango's chest. Jackpot! Er…right? His eyes slipped a couple inches to the right, and that's when he noticed a matching chocolate chip in the exact same position, parallel to the first. It was odd that two chocolate chips would break free from cookie crumbs and roll to relatively similar areas inside her shirt, saluting the world like sentry guardians of her upper body, one on each side. The symmetry of their positions unnerved him and that's when he finally snapped to the conclusion that those weren't stray chocolate chips, they were – _oh_.

Oh, indeed.

He gulped. She squeaked. He tugged at his collar, willing himself more air, and took note of Usagi's chalky pale expression. She was still pole axed, which he guessed he should have known just from the feel of her fingers on him. Talk about a death grip. Shockingly, though, he wasn't in any pain… He blanched. Time to do something about this before, dare he think it, he actually started to _enjoy_ their inappropriate contact.

Usagi's eyes were wide, her lip quivering. She couldn't seem to let go. At least he didn't seem to be laughing, and that had to be a good sign. Actually, his face looked a bit…tense?

Gently, Mamoru peeled her hand off his – area – before things down there could get, ahem, _worse_.

Usagi shivered, completely shaken up. Not because of her hand's recent slip, but because Mamoru was being uncharacteristically nice to her for the _second_ time that day. She tried to force out an apology, but only succeeded in making some odd sort of choking sound.

Seeing his opportunity to gain back the upper hand, Mamoru took advantage of the blonde's inability to recover normal functions. "Well, well, Odango," he drawled, shooting her a smug smile. "Guess this evens us out." She blushed, and he chuckled at her endearing innocence. He gracefully slid to his feet and brushed his pants free of cookie crumbs before turning to leave, flicking her nose on his way. He reached the automatic doors and couldn't help but look back. Usagi was still kneeling forlornly on the table, a cute, utterly puzzled expression on her face - her eyes longing for a finish to something she didn't as of yet understand. Mamoru allowed himself a small smile of hope. They'd certainly have to do this again when she wasn't so naive.

Maybe then he'd actually get to kiss her.

**Author's Note:**

> So, barely any dialogue and zero kissing later…I hope I've still managed to capture the essence of their first season relationship. Only, you know, except for the fact that our dear Mamo would never lose control of himself like that to begin with…hm...no wonder Usa is so frustrated with him throughout the series.
> 
> Ah, anyway. Hope you enjoyed a good laugh. If not, then you need a new sense of humor. Just kidding there! If not, then I'll try harder (or maybe not enough) in the future.


End file.
